the first sunbeam of a fortnight
brushes fleeting on thy face
transforming all the hopelessness
to a fresher state of grace
and for a fortnight of it's own
hoards pleasure with no pain
until grace without enough regard
dies to hopelessness again

She has eyes that see right through,
The heart that holds the bits of you,
The pieces that you now can't give,
With her goodbye, love ceased to live.
No genuine smile shows in your eyes,
Longing for her, while telling me lies,
Be true to yourself; be true to me,
Her face is the one that you wish to see,
Sitting right here, holding your hand,
But it's just me and I don't understand.
Just what is it that I don't possess,
Is it the way I laugh, the way I dress?
Don't lead me on, please don't pretend,
That I'm the one and there is no end,
I know that I'm being settled for,
And I just can't take it anymore,
You cry at night,.. I hear,.. I know,
But I'm hurting too, and I must go.

In the very early mornings
My self will question me
And still I will lie
As if there is a listener
As if truth and fallacy
Will get so entangled
By the shared utterance
That neither will be distinguished
And so I lie to myself
As many do
Until the sun rises on the lawn.

The day, it was just beautiful; the sun was shining bright,
Until I saw a photograph..... that turned my day to night.
And once again truth is missing, once again I am unsure,
And I wish I'd never seen it, so I'd be happy like before.
But the funny thing with truth? the funny thing is this...
It always finds the little things, the little things I miss.

I do not need your adage,
Nor your condescending look,
To make it seem so simple,
To give back what I took.
It's mine now, it belongs to me,
And I'll sacrifice no more,
And I won't accept the blame of Fate,
For leaving it at my door.

Is it just coincidence,
That our paths crossed long ago?
So many others have entered here,
So many seem to come and go.

Tell me why you seem to stay,
And I just can't let go,
Is it because I stunted it?
Is it because I do not know...

Just what truly you are to me,
I'm so afraid to try and see,
Yet with every thought of never knowing,
Something dies inside of me.

I long to hear your genuine laugh,
And to see just how you smile,
And feel a certain thrill inside,
I haven't felt in quite a while.

So, selfishly I will make this plea,
"Please don't give up on me just yet."
Cos' I don't want to remember you as,
"The Greatest Love I Never Met."

Your nothing's always good enough,
But my all just won't suffice.
Once you were a gift to me,
Now I'm your sacrifice.
Yet still I keep on loving you,
Despite inflicted pain,
Believing that maybe my every loss,
Might be your only gain.
That I might be the hoist you need,
At one time or another,
I'd stop my heart so yours could beat,
The instinct of a mother.
But I have recently come to learn,
You must scale your own wall,
And I must stand off to the side,
And just watch you as you fall.
And that's so very hard for me,
But it's the only way you'll grow,
You are going the wrong way again,
But I must let you go.

I have never seen a snow bank,
Nor have I ever flown,
To any distant place or time,
I have not always known.
Upon my inner eye I find,
Images in repeat,
Filled of where I long to be,
Yet can not move thy feet.
Every lonely meager wind,
Invokes impatient will,
Toward all I can't envision,
Yet my heart does thrill.
Soul will not be silent,
No rest at all abound,
Until it follow's distant call,
And it's home is found.

Will my final act be finished,
Or interrupted premature?
Will my soul ever reach fruition,
And just how can I be sure?

That all my tasks will be completed,
Before death claims my last?,
That every action's been performed,
Before my time has passed?

That every lesson has been learned,
That every due tear's been shed?
That every purpose that I hold,
Has been done before I'm dead?

That every seed has been planted,
And every harvest has been sown?
That every "thank you" has been spoken,
To the inspiring souls I've known?

That every word has been written,
That every wrong has been made right?
That I've become all I was meant to be,
Before I lose this mortal fight?

Will my final act be finished,
Or interrupted premature?
Will my soul ever reach fruition,
Just how can I be sure?

You will never bridge the chasm
Or know the greatest depth
Of an unleashed soul's sole passion
Nor find what gives it breath
It's fed by an unknown catalyst,
That urges onward total war,
And loses it's very own battles,
Battles it's lost before.
And though you start with armor,
And resolve in your facade,
You will only descend halfway,
Then retrace the steps you trod.
But do not feel disheartened,
For you are not the first who's tried,
And failed upon this journey,
Who has turned to run and hide.
And the soul discoverer, rest assured,
He will find no treasure bin,
Just an ugly face and a twisted mind,
And a broken heart within.

Where is the love that bears my name?
And whose name is on my heart, writ?
Which memory can't remember,
But the heart just won't forget.
'Tis my own soul which reminds me
of it, as if it were already known,
With constant, ceaseless searching,
For the love which bears my own.

Give me your fact, your fiction.
And in a span so very brief,
I'll return them to you, inverted,
And laugh at your disbelief.

Give me all your foolish dreams.
And with effortless, mocking sighs,
I'll return them to you so twisted,
You just won't believe your eyes.

When all the church bells cease to toll,
And the ocean tides no longer roll,
When not one beast utters mere a sound,
And no compassion can be found,
When the marching drummer fails to play,
And no beacon remains to show the way,
When every breeze becomes right still,
And each soul relents to his Master's will,
When the whole of man stops in place,
And stares out into empty space,
When earth meets sky;  no in-between,
Will be the moment all truth is seen.

You are my anam cara, my soul's friend.
Who knows me from beginning to end.
Your every word reaches out to me,
You see what the others can not see.
Who holds me close though far away,
And within your arms I hope to stay.


You're the warm slippers
I wear all the time,
The inspiration for almost
every rhyme,
The hot cup of cocoa,
that warms my hands,
The knowing look no one
else understands,
The old favorite song
I sing in my head,
The fluffy comforter
I have on my bed,
The view I see when
I'm on my swing,
The song that plays
when I can't sing,
The warmth on my face
from the great sun,
The quickened sleep
when the day is done,
The first one I want
to tell about my day,
The confident voice
when I just can't say.
The friendly hand
that calms my feet,
The reason my heart
still wants to beat.
The face I see sitting
there by me,
In dreams beneath
the poetry tree.
The one who reaches out
to break my fall,
Who hears every scream,
whisper, or call.


You are my anam cara, my soul's friend.
Who knows me from beginning to end.
Your every word reaches out to me,
You see what the others can not see.
Who holds me close though far away,
And within your arms I hope to stay.

Pauper prophet stands amid nobility's raucious crowd.
Beckoned forth, mocked for faith, punishingly proud.

Beams are set, noose is hung, gallant dress is donned.
The noble man, on pedestal, is smugly looking on.

Trumpets hasten allotted time; judgement,error-free.
Noble man; mortal witness, of the paupers' eternity.

God, please make your presence known,
Let your peace just fill my heart.
And relinquish all the pent up pain,
As I make a brand new start.

Take my weakened faith, O Lord,
And make it strong again.
Renew it and give it back to me,
Deeper than its ever been.

Guide me down the cobbled path,
So that I won't trip and fall.
For you have always been the only one,
Who could save me....after all.

Do not believe you've broken me.
No pity needed here.
I can't even recall how long it's been,
Since I have shed a tear.
I will get up and move about,
Carry on with this life.
I've no need to be a beggar,
A forgiver or a wife.
I'm just as beautiful as ever,
No eyes be needed here.
And I'll be moving forward,
Forward with no fear.
But learn a lesson if you will,
That is so very true,
The only person broken here,
Sadly, dear, is you.

Of all the ornaments, on the crowded tree,
The one, by far, that means the most to me,
Is the one that reminds me of a true friend,
Who has filled my heart and helped it mend.
For when my days were troubled,
And I was feeling so very lost,
He stayed by my side, even closer,
And never once counted the cost.
And with his help I am now able,
To be myself once again,
And there is love in place of where,
An empty hole had been.
And He did it because he wanted to,
No motive that I can see,
For being someone who gave it all,
Gave it all... just for me.
Of all the ornaments, on the crowded tree,
The one, by far, that means the most to me,
Is the one that reminds me of a true friend,
Who has filled my heart and helped it mend.

Nothing can or ever will outshine it,
No novel account, or theatre display,
Not even these words to do justice,
To your perfect passing day.

The stage was set, the actors there,
The director in full control,
Not a single thing was missing,
And each one knew their role.

The backward breathing clock,
Counted down as time stood still,
Alarming at the ticking hands,
Then stopped-by Gods own will.

All hands clasped; all prayers said,
And answered before thy call,
You peacefully slipped away from us,
And mortality took the fall.

The holy spirit - he lingered.
And massaged our hearts in hand.
To ease the pain of a perfect passing,
That was too perfect to understand.

Of what can I control?
What depends on me?
Patient contemplation,
Makes it clear to see.

To toil with externals,
Is priceless time just spent,
Like staring at a clock, but still,
In awe of where the time went.

So let me deal internal.
To what is mine...let me give care.
Let my soul be self sufficient.
In spite of all which it must bear.

Let me be quiet and reflective;
A disciplined citadel.
Write and read and practice,
No passion trite compel.

And even aims that promise despair,
I'll usher right in...if needed to.
For it all leads to my freedom,
And my quest for what is true.